


Walk to Your Own Beat

by tryslora



Category: Chronicles of Amber - Roger Zelazny
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Community: kink_bingo, F/M, backstage sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-19
Updated: 2010-08-19
Packaged: 2017-10-11 04:08:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The woman stepped into the light, and Random reviewed his assessment.  She'd kept herself in good shape, but small lines around her eyes, and the softness of her frame gave her away.  Late thirties, he figured, dressed like a mom in a t-shirt and jeans and faded flip-flops rather than like some of the other ones her age who tried to pretend they were still kids in mini-dresses and fuck-me heels.</p><p>The security guard was hovering and Random glared past her at the guy. "I can take care of myself. Go take care of things out there, before the kids swarm the stage." He could hear the next band warming up, and the shrieks of pure delight from the girls waiting for them.  He waited until the security guard faded back into the darkness before he reached out and took the woman's free hand, raising her fingers to his lips and brushing a kiss across the tips.  The small shiver he felt made him smile.</p><p>She held out the drumstick. "I wanted to get this signed for my daughter."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk to Your Own Beat

**Author's Note:**

> Roger Zelazny created Random and Amber, and they are now owned by his estate; I just like to play with them sometimes.

There's a reason drummers tend not to wear shirts. Random knew this, but he always started a set dressed because stripping off the shirt halfway through, letting it drop to the side in a pile of sweat and warmth, always drew more eyes than simply showing up half-naked did.

And it was all about the show.

He made it only two songs in tonight, and he'd been taking it easy. He was better than any drummer out there, which wasn't saying much he figured. He was faster, he was stronger, and he'd been drumming for well over five centuries. He tried to tone it down, but people noticed. This new band was one he'd dropped into a whim when he'd been getting drunk with the bassist (Mick) and listening to him whine about their usual drummer (Jim). He'd offered a simple trade: two months on the road with no worries and no strings, and he'd teach Jim a thing or two about not only keeping a beat but rolling the percussion off the tips of the drumsticks in a way that made girls dance and cream their pants.

One month and twenty days in and Jim was better but not great, but Random was having himself a good time.

He stood and stretched after losing the shirt, listening to the screams of a thousand or more college girls who'd probably been following this band since they were all teenagers together, not even legal to drink. As he settled back in at the kit, he flipped one drumstick, catching it in the left hand that already held one, even as he reached out to pull a pile towards himself. Time for some fun.

The next song was new, something he'd suggested to the guys to let him show off a bit. The beat tripped and rolled, lifted and fell, hiccuped one moment and rushed ahead the next. Random threw himself into it wholeheartedly, drumsticks never pausing, three in motion even though he had only two hands, either with one in the air or two in one hand and twisted to strike two heads at the same time. He could pull inhuman sound from his kit, which only made sense, since he had never been exactly human himself.

And during the drum solo he stepped it up a notch, grabbing new sticks from the pile next to him and pitching them into the audience without missing a beat. He watched as girls reached out and grabbed for them, squealing when they managed to catch one, sometimes fighting over them. Such a pity they were all so damned _young_.

He ended the song with four drumsticks in his hands, using quick flicks of his wrist to create a syncopated rolling frantic heartbeat, thundering to a brutally bright vicious climax, tailing off into soft strikes of a slowing heart, resting and relaxing.

As the audience screamed, bras tossed on the stage, girls baring their chests to flash gorgeous, firm and still way too young tits, he stood and flicked those last four sticks into the audience. Damp with salt and sweat, imprints of his fingers pressed into them from the strength of his grip, the drumsticks disappeared into the audience and waiting hands. He pushed at the straw colored bangs that hung limp and wet in his face and grinned, raising his arms and then bowing elaborately.

The rest of the set paled in comparison, run through with one pair of sticks and the usual beats, nothing that could be called otherwordly. He followed the guys off stage when it was done, jockeying and shoving and laughing, talking about the weed and drink waiting in the back for them, along with the girls that had been hand-picked for a meet-n-greet. The others were only twenty and all male, ready and raring to go, half-hard just from the performance. Random looked like the youngest of them all, small and scrawny as he was, but he knew he could break any of them in half without even trying.

"Did you see that one in the front with the little tits that were half nipple?" Mick asked, holding his hands out at breast height. "Bet I can get it all in one mouthful, have her screaming in minutes."

Random had seen the girl he meant, petite and perfect and reminding him in some odd ways of a brown-haired fencing girl he knew better than to get anywhere near. It was the freckles on the chest that did it. The girl was waiting for them outside the back room, and when she saw them coming, she waved a drumstick in the air, shrieking. He winced inwardly.

Random loved the drums, loved the crowds, loved being up on stage. But Unicorn save him, he hated the demographic of these particular groupies. There was something truly piercing in the shriek of a twenty year old girl, and he didn't need to hear it up close and personal while fucking her on the couch.

"Excuse me."

The voice was soft, coming out of the darkness on his right. None of the other guys noticed, but Random turned to see the woman standing there, held back by security. She was older, maybe old enough to have a daughter in the audience if she were one of the tweenie ones. And she was holding one of his drumsticks, one of the last he threw; he could tell by the darker patterns on the wood where the salt had stained it.

"Hey, Ray, c'mon!" Mick called out, grabbing shoulder.

Random shrugged him off. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be back soon. Fuck one for me, yeah?"

The guys laughed and went on as Random motioned to the security guard. "Let her in," he said quietly, tone more assured and in command than made sense with his appearance. But he'd been a Prince most of his life, and King for years beyond that. Just because he was playing a role at the moment didn't meant that he'd left the behaviour of a true Amberite behind.

The woman stepped into the light, and Random reviewed his assessment. She'd kept herself in good shape, but small lines around her eyes, and the softness of her frame gave her away. Late thirties, he figured, dressed like a mom in a t-shirt and jeans and faded flip-flops rather than like some of the other ones her age who tried to pretend they were still kids in mini-dresses and fuck-me heels.

The security guard was hovering and Random glared past her at the guy. "I can take care of myself. Go take care of things out there, before the kids swarm the stage." He could hear the next band warming up, and the shrieks of pure delight from the girls waiting for them. He waited until the security guard faded back into the darkness before he reached out and took the woman's free hand, raising her fingers to his lips and brushing a kiss across the tips. The small shiver he felt made him smile.

She held out the drumstick. "I wanted to get this signed for my daughter."

"No you didn't," he corrected. "I don't doubt that you've a daughter out there, but if you were getting it signed for her, she'd be glued to your side, barely able to speak, watching with those bright wide eyes that teenagers have. She's not, and you're here instead. So this is for you."

She didn't deny it, breath quickening as he didn't let go her hand. He started to smile.

Those girls out there, drunk on air and alcohol, screaming their fool heads off; they were too young. This one, though, had a softness and maturity about her that drew him in. He stepped closer, not caring that she was an inch taller than him. She took a step back, and they moved together like a dance, stepping in time until he had her back to the wall. "She'll be alright on her own," he murmured. He knew something of daughters; the crown princess was fifteen, back with her mother in Amber and raising hell for everyone else in the castle. Sometimes it was nice to get out and get a break from being both father and king. Vialle knew what he did on his trips, and as long as he came back to her, she didn't care.

And oh, did Random ever intend to do something right now.

His mouth found her neck, lips gentle on her skin, tasting sweat from the heat of the venue, mixed with a faint trace of cinnamon perfume. Fuck, but that was a nice taste, and she wasn't arguing, her heart starting to race as his hand tugged her t-shirt free, slipping up under it, thumb brushing the underside of her breast.

When the tickle at the back of his mind came, he ignored it, putting it aside roughly because his mind was engaged elsewhere and he couldn't think of anything that was urgent enough that he needed to be interrupted.

"There's a face," she whispered. "Over you." She sounded startled and confused.

Random nipped at the soft skin just above her collarbone to distract her, singing nursery rhymes and shouting go away in his mind until the pressure of the incoming Trump contact eased. "Ignore him," he murmured. "You and I..."

"I'm--"

He caught her mouth with his, cutting her off. "Don't," he murmured against her lips. "I don't want to know. You don't really want me to know."

"I'm _married_," she managed to say.

"So'm I." Random pulled back, using the space to slip his other hand under her shirt, nudging it up until it bunched over her breasts, baring a plain white bra, her nipples peaked beneath the soft satin. His mouth fell to one, teasing it as he soaked the fabric. "Doesn't matter."

Her fingers clung to his head, pulling him closer as she gasped, then cried out with a soft whimper. Fuck, too noisy, couldn't have that. Even with the sound of the band on stage, he didn't want the rest of his bandmates to come out and find this. And he wasn't moving, not now when every moment counted and he just wanted to bury himself in her.

While he could (and had) decide easily enough that no one was likely to disturb him, outright screams could bring someone anyway. But she gave him exactly what he needed. He took the drumstick from her hand and quickly scrawled the alias he'd been using in this shadow across it, then placed it between her teeth. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she didn't protest. "Make all the noise you want; no one's going to hear you now," Random said, rewarded by a moan that shivered through her.

Her hands were warm on his back, pulling him close, and he tugged down the bra just enough to bare the tip of her breast. His tongue flicked out, teasing the swollen nipple, caressing it and sucking it in, then letting it slip free again so he could do the same for her other breast. Strength wasn't a problem for him, lifting her up and setting her against the wall, hips pinning her in place as he pressed into her.

She made a small noise of protest when he left her breasts, his hand sliding between them to tug her zipper down. He paused, looking through the shadows to catch her eye, waiting with his fingers just inside her panties for her assent. She moaned and let her head fall back, and with a smile he stroked down, wedging his hand in to let his thumb roll over her clit as two fingers dipped into her slick heat. He played her like a guitar, with slow strokes and quick changes, suiting pace to the sounds of her muffled cries until he felt her tense around him.

That niggling sensation at the base of his skull came back, more insistent this time. "Fuck off," Random growled under his breath. "Busy now." He shoved at the mental annoyance, trying to push it away, but fuck if he had time for playing tag with Trump. It wasn't Vialle, it wasn't Lucia, it wasn't Martin -- that's all he needed to know. Those were the only ones he'd stop for now. It faded into a muffled tickle, barely there but not going away completely, either. Enough for privacy.

He wrestled the fly to his jeans open, freeing himself and quickly rolling a condom on. Not that he figured he had a chance in hell of getting this random girl pregnant, but hell, his luck had struck before in surprising ways, so better safe than sorry, since Random was all about luck. He pushed her jeans further down, lifting her again as he slid into her, pushing her back against the wall. Her muffled shriek shivered through him and she moaned, fingernails raking against his back, rough through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

Oh yeah, this was what he needed. His mouth lowered to her neck, her breast, any skin he could find. Teeth scraped, marking her, then suckling in time with his thrusts. She felt so fucking good, _this_ felt so fucking good. It wasn't the kind of thing he could get back home, where every damned person knew not just who he was, but the position he held. But here, he was just Ray, some guy in the band, and she was just this utterly fuckable woman he had up against the wall.

He slipped his hand between them, stroking between soft, drenched lips, rolling over the hard nub of her clitoris. Her body stiffened as she clenched around him in quick, hard orgasm, but he didn't let her go. One wasn't enough. He'd rather take his time, get her off until she was well wrung out, before he finally let himself come.

He slowed, head dropping against her shoulder, lips tasting sweat and skin. His hips moved in a slow roll, fucking her deep and long, listening to her moan and feeling her shiver every time he pressed into her. She gripped his shirt in bunches, twisted in her clinging fists, grip tightening with every mewling gasp. Just from penetration this time, he decided, gripping her thighs and lifting her, tilting her so that he drove as deep as he could, touching that spot inside her until she cried out around drumstick caught in her teeth. Again, then again, until he felt the shuddering build into another climax.

And with it, a voice calling as if from far away. _Random!! Fucking hell, Random, pick up already. Oh no, oh you aren't, no, you are, aren't you? Hips deep in someone?_

"It's a girl now," the woman in his arms whispered, words barely understandable around the drumstick. He kissed her eyelids closed, knowing it wouldn't stop her from seeing what he tried so damned hard not to see right now.

"Give me five more minutes," he ground out between clenched teeth.

_Two._

"I'll call you back." Random closed down his mind with the finality of a slammed down phone, groaning with the effort of it. "Sorry, love," he murmured, "but we're just going to have to finish this off. Let's go out in flames." He'd been close before Dara slammed her way through his defenses, but a few strokes and he was building rapidly to a peak again. "C'mon, baby, come with me."

He bent his knees, sinking to the floor with her, laying her out beneath him. He pulled out long enough to roll her over, spooning in close behind her as they lay on their sides; he wanted full access to her lush body. As he slid back in, she pressed back with a moan. He dipped his fingers into her slit, stroking her, lightly tapping out a beat to draw her orgasm free once more.

It didn't take long, and as soon as she started shuddering, he let his own control go, coming with a loud groan. He held her until the shudders faded, stroking her shoulder and her back. "Beautiful, baby," he murmured.

It had only taken two minutes.

He helped her back up, tugging her shirt gently down over her bra, helping her rearrange her jeans back in place again. The condom was stripped off and tossed away before he did up his own jeans. When she started to speak, he pressed a finger to her lips, watching her eyes widen as she inhaled her own scent. "Not a word, baby. You've got your drumstick."

She crouched down to get the drumstick from where it had fallen on the floor, and Random took that moment to slip a deck of cards from his pocket, dropping one into his palm before he put the rest of the deck away. He focused on the face staring back at him, the brown hair and bright eyes, and that gamine grin that hadn't looked nearly that pleased to see him just a few minutes before. "It's been two minutes," he said, as the contact opened up.

_We've got a problem here. Come through._ Dara held out one hand, and Random sighed, seeing the walls of Castle Amber behind her, and Martin sitting on a bed, bandaged. Fuck, it was official business after all, and it looked like something had taken a bite out of his son.

He held out his hand, and as Dara clasped it, the other world became more solid, backstage starting to fade around him. He looked over to where the woman watched him, her eyes wide; he knew what she saw, a man wreathed in rainbows, turning flat like a card. He grinned. "You never forget a good backstage fuck," he said, nodding to her as she faded from view.

After all, he'd been doing just that for centuries, and he hadn't forgotten a single one.


End file.
